Porn Battle VIII Entries
by Blue Moon3
Summary: A selection of vignettes unconnected written for the Porn Battle VIII.
1. Memories

_Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tim Kring – boo hoo._

_Author's Notes: Written in response to Porn Battle VIII's prompt 'memories'._

**Memories**

All things considered, it had been a busy three years for Gabriel Gray. He had gone from unassuming watchmaker, to killer, to suicidal, to redemption, to sociopath. And within the sociopath stage, there had been quite a few qualifiers. Every death had been different. Some were perfunctory, some were vengeful, some were entirely necessary. Each of them had killed a small part of him, each helped a small part of him to grow. One stood out particularly in his mind.

He pushed that thought away.

Gabriel had learned a lot about life and death. And perhaps just a small something about love.

_Blonde hair dirtying in the sand, electric blue eyes pleading with him, and he could feel the part of her that was inside him screaming in protest_.

She had been there at every step. She saw his guilt; watched his grip on sanity falter; felt the pain his killing caused, and the pleasure his determination could produce. And she had faced every point with that damnable twist of insolent lips that matched the twist in his gut. Delicate white fingers, sparking delicate bursts of static, that pulled the noose from round his neck only to feed him the poison that would surely doom him in the end.

_"Gabriel, isn't that __**special**__?"_

"Talking to yourself again?" she asked. Her skin was flushed, eyes brilliant blue and gleaming with mischief. He could not help smiling, and she matched the expression perfectly. "Talk to me instead," she suggested.

And that was his subconscious being plain cruel. Perhaps he deserved it. "I can't," he said simply. "You're dead, I killed you."

Her pale hands were sliding along his inner thigh, crackling with the power he had once coveted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used it – there were more efficient weapons in his repertoire now. Despite the teasing nature of her touch, Gabriel had no control over the thrill of lust that shot through him. No one had ever made him feel the way Elle made him feel. Like he was the most important thing in the world, and all the rest could go hang. Like he mattered, and he was sexy and sweet and everything she needed.

_Writhing beneath him, meeting every thrust. "Harder, Gabriel," she murmured, hands gripping his biceps and urging him onwards, though he was already so close._

She didn't say anything else, but he could imagine the dirty things she was thinking. So seemingly pure and angelic on the outside, all baby blue eyes and flaxen hair. But Gabriel knew better. He didn't need any mind-reading powers to know there was lust and experience in that supple body. He hummed, biting down on his lower lip, when her hand slid over the bulge that was rapidly growing in his jeans. She made no innuendo, as there might once have been, back in that brief space of time when they were almost child-like and laughed as they stripped each other bear.

_"You're tickling me," she giggled, hands pushing helplessly at his head between her thighs. He looked up at her, grinning, spreading another quick lick over her sensitive folds. _

She had him out of his jeans before he knew what was happening, and stroked him with firm, familiar movements. The hand was alien – small but strong, slender fingers, long nails – but the grip he knew all too well. "Touch me," she said to distract him from the inevitable.

He looked down and ran a hand over her breast. Full and hot, pressing up into his palm with her laboured breathing. "I like it when you-" he began, but she interrupted him.

"I know. Just relax, Gabriel." She was the only one who always insisted on calling her that. And he hadn't minded. 'Sylar', coming out of her, would have sounded silly, like a superhero name. She had enough tricks up her sleeve to make him feel dumb, without her resorting to drawling out '_Sy_lar' like he was a bad guy in a comic book.

But then thought stopped, because she was gripping him just right and stroking fast now, urging him onwards.

_"I want to see your face when you come," she groaned against his ear, and that was all it had taken. She wanted, and he obeyed – but only for her, and only because it felt so good and so right and..._

"God, I love you," he groaned, as ropes of come arced and dropped to the stripped floorboards.

Panting and alone, he looked down at the small hand that slowly broadened, grew tanned, dark hair growing over the back. The breasts had gone, too – but watching that happen would have been weird. He took just a moment, to breathe and to regret – his only regret, he might add – the death of a woman he had underestimated.

For a guy who knew how things worked, he mused, he sure didn't know himself very well.


	2. Filling the Void

_Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tim Kring – boo hoo._

_Author's Notes: Written in response to Porn Battle VIII's prompt 'masturbation'. Takes place during Season Two._

**Filling the Void**

Spending so long locked away at Primatech, Elle had developed a lot of fantasies. Because there was only so much fun the freaks on level five could be. Even Adam became boring once he passed out. Besides which, how many guys were there that could slide a fingertip over her clit, so soft and slow and almost tickling, before letting out a tiny spark to shoot unique pleasure-pain through her nervous system?

Her fantasies were numerous, held numerous figures – both real and fictional – but her favourite thing to do was to think of Gabriel Gray. She didn't consciously like to think of him as 'Sylar', and the personality that name evoked, because that brought up guilty feelings that really weren't good for this kind of activity. She thought of the sweet, awkward man she'd met a year before, and how things would be if they weren't like they were.

They might both be agents, she told herself, settling back in her warm bed. The fluorescent lights had been turned out, and only the red LED on the security camera blinked in the dark – but Elle never minded knowing some bored security guard might be watching. They – she and her fantasy Gabriel – might pretend to be buddies or colleagues during the day. Or they might pretend to hate each other, tease each other all the time. He might rough house her a little too much, and push her around until she has to spark to get him off her back. But then, every night when they returned to the Company, they might share her slim bed. No need to make it any wider. She could sleep just fine with his long, naked body pressed to hers, maybe sprawled just a little over the top of him. A leg over his, and arm across his chest and fingers running through the dusting of black hair there. She strokes herself through thin cotton panties, tracing the outline of her folds while wishing her fingers were larger, blunter, rougher. Wishing they were his.

Thoughts of a 'happily ever after' ending like that never last long, because they make her kind of sad. Instead she remembers the way they were. She remembers their first kiss, and the way he tentatively ran his tongue along hers. He was so uncertain, like he'd never been kissed before – and maybe he hadn't. But he felt so good it didn't matter. All hard muscle under the buttoned up shirt, and when had he had the time to bulk up that nicely, anyway?

Maybe her imagination was embellishing, but she didn't care. Her mind ran through the possibilities of other places that tongue might run a tentative lick, and this was the thought that always brought her hand under her panties. She needed to touch herself, to feel how wet thinking about _him_ made her. He would be so pleased. She remembered his flush of pleasure when she had murmured his name against his lips. Small things like pleasure and affection made him happy then.

But ultimately it was thoughts of Sylar, not Gabriel, which got her off. It was imagining him captured, strapped to the table and at her disposal like the rest of Level Five. Meagre restraints would never hold him down. He'd break free within a day, maybe the moment he saw her, and hold her hostage. And then he wouldn't able to resist the temptation of her – because there must still be something of Gabriel within him, despite the monster they had all created.

Would he use his power to hold her down, or would he need to do it with his own body?

Fingers hot and slick and crackling with static, Elle pressed up against her own touch. The fingers that, while skilled and deft, were too gentle to be completely satisfying. She came, and she whined out his name, and she licked her fingers clean afterwards. But still it all felt hollow. There was a hole – no pun intended – that only Gabriel-Sylar-Gray would be able to fill.


	3. Firsts

_Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tim Kring – boo hoo._

_Author's Notes: Written in response to Porn Battle VIII's prompt 'firsts'._

**Firsts**

Elle was a first on many counts. She was the first girl to bring him pie. She was the first blonde he had ever kissed, and the first to ever want to kiss him. She was the first woman who had ever studied his face and announced in a voice half-wondering and half-teasing that his eyes were 'pretty'.

She was the first girl to wrap her small hand around his wrist, and raise it up until his fingertips brushed the curve of her breast; and the first to make him so hard he didn't know how he would control himself.

So many of his less desirable impulses had been dulled by this small, attractive blonde with the electric smile. The impulse to kill and take and hurt and (self-)destruct. And now, so many that were better had been created. Impulses he didn't even know could exist.

And for the first time in his life, Gabriel didn't know what to do. He could fix anything, work out the mechanics to whatever situation crossed his path. Yet this woman, who sighed against his lips and pressed herself against his tense body, was an enigma to him. But that was OK, because Elle seemed fully in control of the situation.

His hand clenched around her breast at the pressure of her hand against his erection, and he let out a strangled sob. "Too quick?" Elle asked, piercing blue eyes flicking between his. She didn't remove her hand, if anything squeezed him slightly so his eyes fluttered shut.

"I've never-" he choked, before the impression of her thumb slid over the head of his cock, the ridge of her nail softened by a layer of denim. He didn't know how to tell her – or rather, how to tell her without invoking her pity – that she was the first woman to touch him there.

But she somehow knew, and smiled a little. If she was surprised, she didn't say as much. Gabriel took that as a good sign. "You're doing fine," she whispered, peach pie still sweet on her breath. He pressed forward, into her lips, her hand, her breast, wanting to feel every inch of her. She murmured into his mouth, and he bucked his hips. "It's OK if you're not ready," she murmured against the shell of his ear, before sucking the lobe between her lips. Her hand was working in a steady but maddening rhythm on his prick, and he began to worry that he was not touching her enough. Whatever happened, he had to ensure that this would not be a first and last time.

Thumb locating her nipple, he circled it, bumped over the peak making her hiss. "I'm fine, but-" he groaned as she popped the buttons on his fly. "God, Elle, I'm not gonna last long."

She chuckled. The sound was throaty and arousing, and sent sparks through his system. What was it about this woman that made his skin tingle, like static? Would every time be like this? Her fingers were finally around him, delicious skin-to-skin contact that left him breathless. His eyes fell closed but the sight of her smiling face was burned onto his retinas. Elle pulled him free, hand pumping him with firm, assured strokes. "Just relax," she said, and her voice sounded distant.

Gabriel's eyes snapped open as she shifted off of him, and he panicked for a moment that he had done something wrong and she was leaving. But she settled back on the floor, kneeling between his legs with a gleam in her eye that made him dry swallow. He had a feeling this would be another first.

Sparkling blue eyes lowered purposely – because she _knew_ he was watching – to the head of his cock, as it appeared and disappeared in her fist. Those pupils were dilated, and Gabriel's power and mind were still functioning enough for him to know she was _getting _off on the power trip. She licked her lips, hot breath close enough that he could feel it flutter over his skin. "It doesn't matter if you come," she told him, slicking her tongue over the head, tip tickling over the slit. "There'll be other times. And I want to hear you."

Lips wrapped around the head of his cock, tongue circling slowly. Gabriel groaned, his hand falling to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. He didn't want to push or to control (for once), but he _needed_ the contact. It grounded him when he felt himself begin to spiral out of control. He was too big, he noted with a hint of pride, to fit fully in her mouth. But the quick, steady suction of her mouth was more than enough to send lightning rods of pleasure through him, starbursts exploding behind his eyelids.

"Elle," he moaned, hips bucking upwards violently so her hand had to press at his hip to keep him from gagging her. She didn't even splutter when he emptied himself down her throat, but swallowed as much as she could until the white semen trickled down her chin. The sight and the sensation was too much, and Gabriel let his eyes close.

A few breaths later, when Gabriel felt like he could open his eyes again, Elle was still between his legs. Her hair was mussed from the tousling of his fingers, and her lip gloss was smeared. Watching her with lowered lids, Gabriel liked this new, fallen, debauched angel. "Thank you," he whispered, voice rough with sex and a desire to sleep that was pleasantly flooding his system.

"Was that good?" she asked smugly, knowing the answer.

"As firsts go, it was up there," he admitted, grinning and pulling her back up into his lap.

Taking his hand again, she lowered his hand to slide his fingers over the seam of her jeans. He felt heat and smelled sex, and thought he might be addicted to the gentle flutter of her eyelashes when he pressed her just _there_. "Want to try another first?" she asked, voice breaking as he crooked his fingers, the cogs of his mind already fitting together what made her tick.

"Definitely," he confirmed.


End file.
